


Ugh

by whelvenwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asexual Castiel, Castiel in the Bunker, Demiromantic Dean, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 13:55:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5419574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s chair had glue on it. He’d sat down on it without realising, and now he was completely stuck.<br/>That had to be it. There was no other reason that he’d still be sitting here two whole hours after he first sat down, right? No reason whatsoever. Dean wasn’t exactly a stare-into-space type. He wasn’t into crappy romantic shit, and he wasn’t… dreamy, and he wasn’t… he wasn’t… it had nothing to do with the fact that Cas was sitting right across the room, OK. Wearing soft pyjamas and a smile, buried in a book. Looking – well – good. Cas looked good in the lamplight, which smoothed over his skin and honeyed the lines of his face, left dabs of ochre shadow under his eyes.<br/>Obviously it wasn’t that which had kept Dean sitting in his chair for two hours, though. Look, he’d always been on the verge of getting up, alright? But – well, somehow he’d never quite made it. He’d wanted to, really, but every time he made up his mind to do so, Cas would do something distracting - like yawn, or shift his legs on the sofa, or sigh gently in a way that had Dean’s heart squeezing. But the point was, the point was… it couldn’t be Cas that had him stuck here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ugh

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perdizzion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdizzion/gifts).



Dean’s chair had glue on it. He’d sat down on it without realising, and now he was completely stuck.

That  _had_ to be it. There was no other reason that he’d still be sitting here two whole hours after he first sat down, right? No reason whatsoever. Dean wasn’t exactly a stare-into-space type. He wasn’t into crappy romantic shit, and he wasn’t…  _dreamy_ , and he wasn’t… he wasn’t… it had  _nothing_ to do with the fact that Cas was sitting right across the room, OK. Wearing soft pyjamas and a smile, buried in a book. Looking – well – good _._ Cas looked  _good_  in the lamplight, which smoothed over his skin and honeyed the lines of his face, left dabs of ochre shadow under his eyes.

Obviously it wasn’t  _that_ which had kept Dean sitting in his chair for two hours, though. Look, he’d always been on the verge of getting up, alright? But – well, somehow he’d never  _quite_ made it. He’d wanted to, really, but every time he made up his mind to do so, Cas would do something distracting - like yawn, or shift his legs on the sofa, or sigh gently in a way that had Dean’s heart squeezing. But the point was, the  _point_ was… it couldn’t be  _Cas_  that had him stuck here.

It was the glue.  _Definitely_ the glue.

Maybe Sam had put it there as a joke.

Ugh.

Since Dean had been the victim of this ridiculous and childish prank, he’d had far too much time to spend thinking. Seriously, he thought, no one should ever be forced to sit with themselves for longer than thirty seconds. It  _did_ things to people. The effect it had had on Dean, in particular, was definitely to be taken with a pinch of salt. Rock salt, just in case this was some kind of… demonically-influenced… thing.

Hey, maybe it was a  _demon_  who had put the glue on the chair, and forced Dean to look at Cas’ face for two hours, and made him think about how easy it would be to walk over there and… and tell Cas how he felt.

Well – well, not – not how he  _felt,_ because he didn’t feel anything  _specific,_ per se, that was to say, he felt  _something,_ yes,but it wasn’t… there was no point blowing it out of proportion. It was just because he’d been sitting in this chair and the light was all low and Cas looked so happy and gentle and kissable and –

Oh, God, Dean hadn’t really just thought that. 

Sure, the echo of the thought was still in his mind, but he hadn’t just said those words to himself. He really, really hadn’t. There was no way that he’d sat here for two hours staring at Cas because he looked  _kissable._ Dean didn’t do…  _kissable,_ for crying out loud. And he didn’t do that thing that people did in the movies, getting all gross and gooey-eyed over kisses. He  _didn’t._  He didn’t look at people and wish he could kiss them just for the sake of kissing them and feeling…  _emotions._  And he didn’t wish he could hold their hand in his, and lace their fingers together, and look into their eyes and hope that they wouldn’t look away, would keep watching him…

Ugh.

Across the room, Cas blinked solemnly and turned a page. The way his fingers moved over the book, and the way his lips pressed together slightly as he read… his whole Cas-ness right now was  _doing_ things to Dean. And not the usual things, either. Dean had got used to those things. After all, come on, who didn’t look at their friends every now and then and think about – well, going there? That was totally normal. Happened all the time with Cas, so it had to be normal.

But… this was something else. This wasn’t imagining taking Cas to bed, this was imagining taking Cas to bed and then tucking him in and pressing a kiss to his forehead and getting in on the other side and spooning with him all night. And waking up next to him, with pillows that smelled like him.

God, that sounded – well, it should sound ridiculous. With absolutely anyone else, right now, it would have been a nightmare. So awkward and cliché and – performed, somehow, acting out a part.

And yet with Cas, Dean thought that maybe it wouldn’t be awkward at all.

It wouldn’t be a big deal. It would be so natural. And so…  _good._ Dean had a strange fluttery feeling in his stomach just thinking about it, like being scared, but – in a good way. He really  _wanted_ to do all those things.

But that was impossible. It didn’t make any sense. It just – it didn’t make sense.

Dean looked over at Cas, who was frowning slightly down at some fine print, a footnote at the bottom of a page. Maybe he needed glasses. Dean wanted to kiss him until everything else in the world just faded away.

And somehow, it felt like that  _did_  make sense.

But the problem was, of course, that Dean didn’t know whether Cas would – whether he would want to – 

Oh, God, no, this was ridiculous. This whole train of thought was crazy. It was just because Dean was… tired, and – and stuck to this goddamn chair. He didn’t really want to go over there, right? Cas would probably be totally freaked out. Well, not  _freaked out_ because Cas didn’t really do freaked out, but he’d probably squint up at Dean in that adorable way he had, and say, “Angels don’t feel for humans like that, Dean.” Stupid, pedantic bastard.  _I know,_ Dean told the Cas in his head.  _I know, stop acting all high and mighty about it. I just wanted to tell you how I felt, in case… in case you wanted to make… an exception, maybe, or…_

Dean resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands, not wanting to draw attention to himself. He was pretty sure that Cas had forgotten that Dean was in the room at all, totally lost in reading, and he didn’t really feel like putting a stop to that. 

That is, sure, Dean wanted to get up and leave the room and be done with sitting on this stupid chair, of course, but… 

In a minute or two would be fine. When he’d made up his mind whether or not he was going to go over there, and… and ruin his friendship with Cas.

Or maybe – maybe –

Ugh.

Maybe.

Perhaps.

_What if._

_Ugh._

Words like that were pains in his ass. They made everything difficult. If only there could be no  _what if_ , just  _yes_ or  _no._ If only there were some way of making sure Cas liked him back that Dean could control… if only Dean could take a test, could prove himself by – fighting a – a bear, or something, or running a marathon… saving Cas from a dragon, wasn’t that how it used to go?

Dean kept himself amused for a long few moments imagining Cas in a floaty pink dress and pointed purple princess hat.

He sighed.

He couldn’t do any of that. There were no real-life monsters to fight between him and Cas; no way to win Cas’ heart,  _ugh_ , with a quest for glory. All the bears were in his head and the marathon was the seven or eight steps it would take to cross the space between them. The only way for Dean to prove his bravery was to – to walk over there. And Cas wouldn’t even know what Dean had done, wouldn’t even know how much it had taken for Dean just to unstick himself from the glue on this chair.

It would be the smallest, quietest bravery he’d ever shown.

And Dean didn’t want to show it. He didn’t  _want_ to. He wanted to slink back to his room and be miserable and think about missed opportunities and put on sad music and feel the reach of the empty side of the bed next to him. He wanted to be familiarly desolate, disconsolate in the way he knew best, with his closest friend sleeping on his chest – the weight of his own loneliness.

That was safe. And easy. Not brave, but Hell, who was brave anymore? Who did anything that wasn’t selfish, and straightforward, and sad?

He wasn’t going to speak to Cas. He wasn’t. He wasn’t _._ He was going to get up and leave the room without a word, right now…

He was still stuck to the chair. His legs wouldn’t move. Damn – damn  _glue._

What if he just  _did_ it, though. What if he just had one mad moment of quiet bravery, and stood up, and walked over there, and said to Cas…

Well, said  _something_ to Cas, anyway. He didn’t want to script it in his head,  _if_ he was going to do it, because he’d just sound stupid and prepared, like an actor playing himself. He wanted to feel it as he said it. He wanted the words to come out mixed and blunt and wrong, because the way he felt – well, it was all of those things, too, probably. And anyway, Cas wouldn’t be able to prepare what  _he_ was going to say, so it felt like an unfair advantage to map all of his own parts out.

So there was nothing left to do but go over there. Nothing left to say to himself but  _okay, let’s do it_ – or  _no._ He could still say no. Everything would stay the same.

If he said no now, he’d say it again ten thousand times, that was for sure. He’d never tell Cas how he felt. How he  _felt._ Because he  _did_  feel. He did. He felt  _so much._

Ugh.

_Ugh._

**_Ugh._ **

“Uh, Cas?” Dean stood up, feeling the glue on the chair set him free easily, as though it had never been there at all. Cas blinked once down at his page, finishing his sentence, before pressing the book closed with his thumb still inside it to mark his place. Dean took seven steps towards him, his legs feeling like white noise beneath him.

“You’ve been quiet,” Cas said, looking up at him. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, fine,” Dean said automatically, his voice a little gruff, his mind a sudden blank. He swung his arms back and forth, just once, and then held them stiffly by his sides, frowning.

“Is something on your mind?” Cas asked, lowering his book down to rest on his lap, page still carefully kept. He was wearing an old t-shirt, one of Dean’s own, Dean realised, which made the fluttering in his stomach double.

“Uhh,” he said, his fingers curled up tight into nervous fists. “Uhhh. Well, yeah, I guess. I was just thinking about how, uh… how…” he trailed off, his courage waning. Maybe he could still back out of this?

Cas was looking up at him, his eyes soft and puzzled. The feeling washed over Dean again, the attraction that wasn’t just attraction, the feeling of desire, and affection, the feeling of – of –

“Cas, I’m in love with you,” Dean said, the words tumbling out of his mouth even as he realised the truth of them, the absolute, obvious truth. His heart was pounding madly in his chest. Cas blinked, once, and said nothing at all for one long second, for two…

Dean’s panic set in, his eyes dropping to the floor, his cheeks reddening, heart still  _thud thud thudding_ against his ribs. Oh, God, he was mad, he was absolutely insane, why had he just – why had he just  _said_ it, just like that, with no build-up, no warning? Should he run? Should he just –

Cas got up.

And his book fell to the floor, landing face down, open to the wrong page. 

Dean’s breathing seemed to stop.

“Dean,” Cas said, in a tone that Dean knew so well – a complexity of fondness, and surprise, and total  _lack_  of surprise, all at once. “Dean, I – this isn’t… this isn’t a joke, is it?”

Dean’s gaze, which had been still locked on the floor, jerked up. He met Cas’ eyes, and knew that his expression had answered the question without words; Cas’ face cleared.

“I - I mean it,” Dean said hoarsely, even still. There was no point in lying, now. He shrugged, a little helplessly. “I really mean it.”

Cas was standing strangely upright, his arms held just a little away from his body. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were bright and solemn and intense as he took a small step closer. Was he - Dean swallowed. He didn’t look… like Dean had expected he would. It was almost as though…

“I…” Cas began. “I didn’t think you would – that we would ever…” He lifted a shoulder, and let it fall.

“Well, we don’t have to,” Dean said gruffly. He could feel even his ears turning pink.

“I want to,” Cas said, very,  _very_ quietly.

For a long moment, they only stared at each other.

Dean’s body swayed forwards, and he took a step. Cas followed his lead; they slid into each other’s space, as naturally as could be.

“Cas,” Dean murmured, his head bent down, eyes lowered, speaking to Cas’ cheek because they were so close, so close. “Cas, I don’t – I don’t normally do this very well. I don’t know what – I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to do – all the things that…” He broke off, and swallowed. “I just want to be real with you,” he said, hearing the strung-out tiredness in his own voice. “I just don’t want to pretend.”

Cas nodded, his expression still serious, gentle, with an edge of bright, glowing happiness to his eyes that made Dean’s lips curve upwards in a smile he couldn’t stop.

“It may surprise you to learn,” Cas said softly, and Dean could feel the warmth of the breath on which Cas’ words rode touching his own lips, “that I don’t normally do this, either. I don’t feel things the same way that humans do, Dean. I don’t know what I will be able to want to do, either.” He drew in a breath. “All I know is what’s in front of me. All I know is that I - I want to be with you. All I know is that… I love you, too.”

Dean couldn’t seem to control his own face. He was smiling and his eyes were starting to fill up with tears –  _tears_ – and he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He pressed his hands to cover his face, and half-laughed into the darkness.

He felt Cas’ hands come to rest on top of his own, and then pull them down and away. He expected Cas to let go when his hands were back down by his own sides, but Cas didn’t; instead, he held on.

It felt so right that Dean really did cry, then – just a few tears sliding out in a rush down his cheeks.

“Will this be enough?” Cas said seriously, his eyes tracing over Dean’s features, his expression full of tenderness. “Even if we don’t –”

“I never thought I’d feel… this much - or this, uh, in this way,” Dean said thickly, his forehead creasing as he tried to get himself under control. “I didn’t think I wanted to, anymore. But when I l-look at you, Cas, I just… if you want to – want to be with me, too, in whatever way, then – then that’s enough for me.”

Cas did smile, then, just the slightest upward curve of his lips, the smallest of expressions that expressed an infinity of feeling.

“Cas,” Dean said roughly, and cleared his throat, and tried again. “Cas, could we – can we kiss?”

Cas’ hands dropped Dean’s.

For a terrible second, Dean thought that he’d misunderstood everything.

And then Cas’ soft touch was on both sides of his face, drawing him in, bringing him close. Dean was a mess; he only remembered to close his eyes at the last second and he didn’t angle his head right and he kept his hands awkwardly between them, but –

But they kissed.

And it meant so, so much. Dean could feel himself melting, thawing, turning to pure happiness inside.

The kiss meant,  _I love you._

And it meant,  _I love you, too._

It meant,  _I don’t know what shape our love will be. I don’t know how we’re going to make it work. But I know I love you, I love you, I love you._

_And I know I always will._


End file.
